


Different Similarities

by Merilsell



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: Friendship, Gen, Minor Alistair/Warden (Dragon Age), Sort Of, finding common ground
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-16
Updated: 2019-02-16
Packaged: 2019-10-29 12:46:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,876
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17808215
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Merilsell/pseuds/Merilsell
Summary: Morrigan and Leliana don't usually bond, and certainly not over shoes. Yet they share a moment of bonding one day over something practical, something they have in common: The shitty people in their lives.





	Different Similarities

**Author's Note:**

  * For [bohemiantea](https://archiveofourown.org/users/bohemiantea/gifts).



> Prompt fill for the DASC Palentine 2019. I hope you like it, tea <3

The bard was singing again. Strumming her lute, she sat on a rock placed next to the campfire and sang her tale of – well, Morrigan really did not care what it was about. Most likely praising her religious absentee father figure or some naive idolization of love. Her farce was as unconvincing as it was cloyingly sweet, ever since she had joined up, weeks ago. Twould be best to ignore it all, but her display in the camp’s center and very loud song made it impossible, alas. Ugh.

Unsurprisingly, her other companions were less bothered by the display. Quite the opposite. Twas sickening to see how the Warden was hanging on every word the fool or the bard uttered to her, starry-eyed and timid like a child. Brosca was a bit of an idiot, too. Her superstition of magic led to fear, which led conflict between them and them avoiding each other. To be honest, this served Morrigan. It made it easier to not get attached, to keep her distance. She preferred it this way and her separate camp, away from them.

The song ended just as the wind picked up, carrying the chill of night. Morrigan shivered and picked up a stick to poke her own small campfire back to life, before returning to her place and task of mixing healing salves.

“This was nice.”

“Thank you, Saria.” The bard, under the guise of a chantry sister, bathed in both Wardens’ applause. Afterwards, trite conversation between the three ensued and this was the point where she stopped paying attention. Putting mortar and pester aside, Morrigan ducked into her tent.

Morons, all of them.

* * *

 

They had taken a stop in the tavern at Lake Calenhad for the night. After the trip to the mage tower with all it entailed – the fade, demons, abominations and the nigh elimination of every mage still caught within the building – everyone was glad about the chance to rest up in a real bed, for once. Well, not everyone, if Morrigan’s glower at her bread bowl of cabbage soup was any indication. The witch kept to herself normally, always at distance to the rest of the group, oozing an air of disdain. She had nipped every attempt of discussion started by herself – be it about religion or her background – in the bud as well. As such, it was hard to get a read on her for Leliana, though it also made it… more interesting, admittedly.

“Are you displeased with the outcome of our trip?” Leliana asked, idly sipping on her drink. Aside from two other patrons nursing their ale at the bar, they were the only guests in the small common area of the tavern. With its sparse and worn furnishing, it held up just so the balance between rustic and shabby. Those were the moments when Leliana missed the lavish even low-cost Orlesian establishments had, the luxury of – no this life was behind her, the past.

“What do you mean, bard?” Ah, a reply, at last. As always she rushed the words out with more than a hint of snide. “These mages lived like cattle in that tower, they were not freed by us. They will be simply herded to another master soon. Death would have been more merciful here.”

Wynne, an elder circle mage freshly added to their party, looked up from her book she was reading in the corner by the fireplace. She clicked her tongue in a disapproving manner.“You speak of mercy, young mage… yet you don’t understand the concept of this word!”

The spoon clattered as she threw in on the table to scowl at the mage. “If I desired to hear your opinion, old woman, I would ask. I did not, nor is there a writing on my forehead that say: "Please, guide me!" She scoffed. “Take your lectures elsewhere. They mean nothing to me.”

This was such a callous view of her on the mages and almost one that came to pass, were it not for Zevran’s impassioned plea to help them after all. Thank the Maker he was able to talk sense into Saria’s mind clouded by prejudice against magic. “There were children among them, Morrigan. We couldn’t leave them to die!”

“Your facade is unconvincing, bard!” Leliana blinked upon the sudden harshness now directed at her. “Your desperate attempt to run from your past, while hiding your true self behind sanctimonious preaching and cloying innocence? ‘Tis sickening!”

How could she dare…? While the majority of Leliana’s past was no longer a secret, it gave Morrigan no right to speak to herself in such a tone. “At least I regret the evil I have done and try to better myself. Unlike you!”

“I have had enough of your self-righteousness, bard!” The chair scraped the wooden floor as the witch sprang up. The soup sloshed in its bowl, spilling over hand, before she slammed it on the table. “I refuse to spend any more moments in yours or the old woman’s presence.” With that, she whirled on her heels and stormed out of the tavern, slamming the door shut behind herself.

Leliana shared a look with Wynne. What in the Maker’s name had just happened? The elder mage arched an eyebrow. “Is she… always like this?”

She shrugged. It was hard to say what Morrigan’s normal behavior was, actually. “Abrasive, impatient and a bit callous, you mean?” Wynne nodded in reply. “It is sort of her thing, yes.”

“Well, let’s hope the wintry chill is enough to cool that hot head of hers.” Reopening the page where she left off, Wynne focused back on her book.

With the conversation over, Leliana leaned back in her chair and stretched one limb after the other. After the strenuous trip with countless battles the strain and ache within her muscles were no surprise. Listening to the soft crackle and pop of the firewood, her eyes drooped shut. For a long moment the tavern was still, all noise reduced to faint murmur and the clang of tankards being raised and put down on the bar. Forcing her eyes back open, she stood up from her chair. Maker, she was tired. It would be best to turn in for the night. Having not to worry about guard duty and being able to sleep in was an added bonus tonight, of course.

Leliana bid Wynne good night and walked up the stairs. On half of them she ran into Saria. Disheveled and clad in simple linen clothes, she carried a large book under her arms. “Is Morrigan still down there? I have to give her this, it is important!”

“She stormed outside not long ago.”

“Oh.” The dwarf made a little sound in the back of her throat, shifting nervously from one bare foot to the other. “Well, I have to find her and apologize. I was wrong about mages and magic and – see you in the morning?”

Leliana nodded with a smile. “Yes, of course. Good night.” _And good luck._ She would need it with the grumpy witch.

 

* * *

 

“Shall we play a guessing game as to why you are here, visiting the good, old Flemeth?” The old witch laughed, the tone of it broken, edging on madness. “Maybe even sing to the tune Morrigan already has you dancing to? Sounds like fun, doesn't it?"

Leliana frowned. This old, frail woman in front of them was _the_ Flemeth of the legends? But looks could be deceiving, a trick to lull someone into letting their guards down. As former bard charade had been one of her most used ruse, when targeting a mark. And the witch was playing this role to a perfect extend.

"We are here for your head," Saria replied, gripping her sword and shield tighter.

Flemeth cackled, not perturbed in the slightest by the threat. "And here I thought you were here for a _book_. The real one. But dear Morrigan always knew how to survive best.” She paused, cocked her head. “So, will you dance to her tune or will you listen?"

"Listen?" Alistair scoffed, crossing his arms. “We should not be here in the first place.”

“And yet you are. Again. Amusing, isn’t?” Her eyes squinted at him with a smirk. “Remember, there are more than one mere song you can sing, Warden. Perhaps twill be the one of where Morrigan gets what she seeks through others?”

“What do you mean?” Leliana shifted on her feet. The way Flemeth spoke and toyed with them was unsettling. Alistair was right, coming here had been a bad idea. Too late to turn back now, wasn’t it?

"Give her the book. You are free to take it. Let her believe I was slain."

“You want us to trick her?”

“Yes, yes, dear bard. That is always more fun, isn’t it? You should know.”

“How do you –“

“Also tis easier, no?” Flemeth continued, ignoring her bewilderment, amused. “No effort and yet gaining the prize sought. Plus, you are going to keep her around... for a time.”

“For a time? So you plan to possess her later on?”

“Hmm, so this is what she has told you, dwarf. Interesting, very interesting, my Morrigan.” The witch cackled. “So will you dance or sing? Which will it be, I wonder?"

“We should take the book and leave, love,” Alistair urged his fellow Warden. ”I don’t like this, but – who am I kidding, tricking Morrigan is fun. I’m a bad, bad man.”

It would be the easier solution, true. Leaving unscathed with what they wanted – that would have been what her old self would have done. Even now it was tempting, but no – she was better than that now. It wouldn’t be fair to Morrigan either, no matter how caustic she was most of the time. She deserved better than being lied to and manipulated by them. She should be free of her dangerous mother’s grasp as well. “No, Saria. You can’t do that. Not to a friend.” Leliana shrugged her bow from her shoulder. “Let us fight for it, instead.”

“Ah, ever the idealist, I see,” Zevran tutted, shaking his head. Despite his disapproval the elf readied himself for battle. “I hope you know what you are doing, my dear.”

The dwarf hesitated for a moment longer, biting her lip. “I agree, Leliana,” she said, eventually. “I’m a Warden, not a carta thug. Not anymore.” Yes. Both of them had changed, left the past behind. No more tricks, no more lies.

“Very well, dancing it is, then,” Flemeth said with a displeased sigh and stepped backwards. “Let us see if I remember the steps."

 

* * *

“This country smells like wet dog. Everywhere. I cannot get the smell out.” Ugh, what an annoying accent and voice. Could she stop talking? “It is in my hair and my clothes, bah!”

This miserable hag with the terrible accent was the woman the bard had feared the whole time? Given her lack of armor or weapon, that insufferable woman had expected her guard dogs to kill them off before reaching her room. ‘Twas remarkable how someone so moronic could ever –

“You framed me, had me caught and tortured.” Oh. Her gaze fell on the bard who shook under the meaning of these words. “I thought that in Ferelden, I would be free of you. But it seems I am not!”

“Did you think I would not watch my little Leliana?” the hag replied with a shrug and smirk. “That I would not know where you would be? I watched you, all this time. I wondered about what your plans were.” How very creepy. “After you settled in Lothering, it seemed that you would no longer be a trouble to me, my pet. No letters were sent, no messages. You barely spoke to anyone.”

“Because I wasn’t. You are paranoid. Insane!” On this, she could agree with the bard, for once.

“Clever, Leliana. Very clever. You almost had me fooled. But then…” The hag shook her head. “You left. How was I to know what your plans were? You have information you could use against me. We both know this. So I had you followed.”

“Which brings us back to you being paranoid and insane,” Morrigan coolly remarked, and groaned out loud. “’Tis time to end this. Lest we stand all day here and talk. Ugh.”

“I need answers, Morrigan.” She whirled around to her, furious and with tears in her eyes. “Didn’t you want the same from Flemeth?”

“No, I sought out the one thing that would ascertain my protection and survival against her. I did not sit down for tea and discussed _when_ she had planned to take over my body.” Morrigan rolled her eyes. “’Tis a tremendous difference there, you fool.”

“You are welcome, by the way. For getting your book… from a dragon!” Why had the other, even bigger fool always to pipe up unasked? Best to ignore him. He was needed still, to feed him to the archdemon when the time came for the final battle. And for – ugh, no. Never! With a shudder, Morrigan turned away from the Warden idiot and back to… standing about? Oh, come on, do something!

The hag waffled on about ‘how they were not so different’, which was the most trite, overused sentence in existence. It seemed enough to taunt the sanctimonious fool out of her lethargy, however. Figures.

“I’m not like you!” the bard yelled, trembling even as she jolted forward, dagger in hand. With one quick slash she slit across the hag’s throat, causing her to bleed out. Finally. “I will never be like you!” Only, she did not stop there. Again and again, she stabbed her former companion, sobbing loudly. How lovely.

“This settles it, then,” Morrigan huffed, watching as blood splattered across the bard’s face and entire body. What did the hag expect to happen? For a supposed bard-master, this had been an exceptionally mediocre plan with no back up, other than her Qunari watchdogs at the entrance. At least she was joining them in the ditch now. What an utter moron. “’Twas about time.”

“Leliana…” Brosca – _Saria_ rushed forward in the attempt to stop the idiot from putting further holes into the hag-turned-corpse. “It is over. She is dead.”

The dagger clattered on the rough flagstone floor, as she let go of it, at last. Covered in blood from head to toe, the bard fell down backwards. Eyes wide, tremors shook her entire body. “Dead...” she spoke the word as if failing to grasp its meaning. “She is dead. Because of me.” Yes, shouldn’t she be glad? To be free from this insufferable woman’s influence had been the goal here, after all. Jumping up and back on her feet, the bard stepped backwards, away from Saria’s attempted hug. “I… I need some time to m-myself.” With that, she stormed stumbling out of the door, into Denerim’s streets.

Unlike the two Wardens falling over themselves in worry, Morrigan had no reason for hurry. In fact, what had been the point of coming here, for her? Shaking her head, she shouldered her staff and stepped over the corpses at the entrance to leave. “What a waste of time, truly.”

* * *

  
It had been hours since visiting the hag’s house and they had long since returned to the Gnawed Noble for drinks and food. The bard was sitting at a lone table in the common room, staring into the distance with a hollow gaze, unmoving ever since. Normally, Morrigan wouldn’t bother in the slightest, not with her or her precious hurt feeling, ugh. Alas, everyone else in their group tiptoed around that fool like she would fall to pieces, if anyone would glance at her wrong. ‘Twas annoying and unproductive, to say the least.

With a sigh, she sat down next to her. “For what tis worth, Leliana…” The bard perked up at her uncommon usage of her name; this a calculated effect. “You did the right thing. ‘Tis superfluous to bemoan hypothetical what-if’s now.”

She sniffled and briefly choked on her own sob. “That is easy for you to say, Morrigan. Others -I did- fought for you in the Wilds. You did not face the person manipulating you!”

“I couldn’t!” Her fingers curled into a fist, as anger surged up. “For I did not know what would happen when I would meet my mother face to face. She could have possessed me right away and –“ She stopped herself from elaborating, ‘twas useless, in the past. “Tis why I had to ask Saria for aid, as did you.”

Staring at her hands, the bard gave a weak nod. “She didn’t trust me. Maybe she never did. She loved me, when she could use me and now – _now_ –“ Another sob rippled through her, halted her words. Oh please, not again!

“She is dead. As is my mother.” _However temporarily._ Letting out a groan, Morrigan rolled her eyes. Twas like speaking to a toddler. “’Tis a good thing. It means you are free, you fool.”

“Y-yes, you are right.” For the first time in hours, the bard – Leliana – looked up and forced a smile. ‘Twas fake like her sweetness and the self-righteous persona created for herself, but at least she put in the effort. “And so are you, Morrigan.”


End file.
